


Coffee Klatch

by Ladycat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode: s04e09 Miller's Crossing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I just wanted you to know that I get it," Sam says suddenly. "I don't know that I would've handled it that way, but I get it. You made the right choice, John."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee Klatch

After four years, John's got a doctorate in how to manage McKay. It doesn't take a lot, this time: make sure he drinks tea (decaf, since Rodney can't tell the difference) instead of coffee, keep nodding and hmming and low-key teasing while Rodney slowly slumps over the table like a wind-up toy in desperate need of a good twist, muttering into his mug with his eyes half-shut.

He's exhausted. So it's easy to nudge him underneath the table and say, "Hey, buddy."

"Mm, yes. I should, ah."

"I could provide an escort, if you want."

Rodney, busy rubbing his eyes, stops and looks at him. "You'll what?"

"Make sure there's turn-down service, even." He grins, mouth closed because it's the only way he's going to manage anything like a real smile. "C'mon, McKay."

"Yes, yes, fine. Be witty and, and -- and I don't even know."

"You'll just have to think of an insult tomorrow."

"Actually," he says, standing, "I think you already did that. Especially if I should mention to the marines what, exactly, their commanding officer calls them..."

"You couldn't afford them anyway. Go, Mckay. Go to sleep."

"Mm, yes, I'm going." He waves -- _go away, go away_ \-- and shuffles towards dish-return area, weaving slightly. Jeanie's not going to over-work her brother, no matter how much she plans on milking him, but John doesn't think she'll count on just how badly Rodney really _does_ feel. Familial bonds are still something new and a little wondrous to him; they aren't new to _her_ , though, so the idea that Rodney's mind is going to be doing its best impression of a hamster isn't something she'll know how to handle.

John does.

"Hey. May I join you?" Carter looks exhausted herself, hair in loose strings around her face.

"Yeah, hang on." John touches his radio lightly. "Mellors, this is Sheppard. Make sure McKay doesn't do a face-plant before reaching his quarters, will you?"

"Yes, sir," a tinny voice responds immediately. They've all been on scientist-watch before, his men, and if John usually takes McKay, well, it's not like he _always_ does. Just. Most of the time.

Crap. If this starts another rumor that they're fighting again...

"John?"

"Sorry," John says, whipping his head up like he hasn't been frowning into his cup of tea. "Just wanted to make sure that -- "

"That Rodney makes it to his quarters, yes, I heard." Sam smiles, and for a second, it's Elizabeth's smile: amusing and knowing, like she has a secret he hasn't even guessed the shape of yet. "How are you doing?"

"Me? Me, I'm fine." He doesn't add that there's no reason for _him_ to be conflicted. He's finally figured out how to not protest too much and Sam's bullshit detector is as good as the best of his CO's.

"Mmhmm," she drawls. "I read the report, John."

The question is _which_ report, and it's probably not really a question. The official report wouldn't make her come down here at a little after midnight, picking at a carrot muffin while she does her best to meet his eyes.

"I just wanted you to know that I get it," Sam says suddenly. "I don't know that I would've handled it that way, but I get it. You made the right choice, John."

_"This will help?" Wallace had asked, eyes so bright with pain that they glistened with more than the tears he freely shed. "It'll make things better?"_

Sighing, John studied the way his hand curved around his mug of tea. It's decaf, like Rodney's was -- it's the best way to convince Rodney and honestly, he doesn't need the caffeine either. He just wants it. "I made the only choice."

Sam shakes her head, leaning even closer. There's no one to overhear, but some conversations can't take place in a huge, open room like the mess-hall. They need the illusion of privacy, of closeness. "That's not true and you know it. You had other options, plenty of them -- "

"I wasn't gonna let him do that," John hisses, skin crawling as he remembers the way Rodney had gone so very still, begging to kill himself it meant saving his sister. "I left him before when I _damned_ well knew better, he never waits when he thinks he's right and he has to be the hero when it comes to Jeanie!"

"And you could've asked someone in the SGC," Sam shoots back, just has hard. "Do you think this is the first time we've had suicide missions? I read the way the Hoffans tested their drug; did you think they were unique? We could've found a way."

"And let Rodney feel responsible for someone else's life? He never would've accepted that. The _only_ possibility was Wallace."

"I know. John, I _know._ " She waits until he finally meets her eyes. "I get it. I just wanted to let _you_ know."

This isn't the first time he's had this conversation. It's the third, and it doesn't stop being any less painful. He's not supposed to do things like this, and every time he thinks he's beat it, he's past it, something comes along and he can't be logical anymore. He can't look at things objectively because it's _Rodney_ , sweating and terrified and making the kinds of decisions he shouldn't ever have to make. "It didn't affect my decision."

Sam laughs, lips quirked in a grin that's as rueful as it is amused which is no where near the playbook John's established. He blinks at her while she takes a bite of muffin, shaking her head. "Of _course_ it didn't," she stresses. "The same way it never affected me, when it was Teal'c. Or Daniel."

It takes John a moment to figure out what she's saying, and when he does, he ducks his head. Right. He forgets, sometimes, that she's not just the military version of Elizabeth, but someone who doesn't look at field work with a sense of wonder or longing, romanticizing it. Elizabeth did, no matter how many times reality should've shattered those illusions. She always wanted to get out there, to be more.

Sam's _been_ out there. She knows what it is to be part of this kind of team.

"It makes the sex pretty irrelevant, doesn't it?"

He jerks his head up. "What?"

"That isn't a request for details. What I don't know, I don't have to potentially hide from the IOA." _That's_ more like Elizabeth's response, but Sam's still talking, "Like I said before. I just wanted to let you know that I get it, and I get why you won't have trouble sleeping tonight. I wouldn't, either. Now," she puts her palms flat on the table and pushes onto her feet, "don't stay out here too long, John. The kitchen staff hates to cook when we're sitting out here."

"I told you that."

"And it was good advice. Good night, John."

"Night."

After a few moments of staring at nothing, John gets to his feet and heads towards the residential section. Mellors is leaning against the wall outside of Rodney's door. "He stopped making noise about five minutes ago, sir," he reports. "And, sir, you should probably know -- "

John holds up a hand. "He called you an escort, didn't he?"

"Yes, sir." Mellors is smiling, though. Being fondly amused by McKay is a badge of honor among the men who've been here longest. They bitch about him as much as they go out of their way to protect him. "He looked pretty wrecked, sir."

"Dismissed," John drawls and doesn't bother waiting until Mellors has turned down the hallway before opening Rodney's door. He's asleep, thankfully, sacked out on the bed still wearing that stupid hoodie, drooling onto his pillow. It's... okay, it's not endearing at all, but John still smiles as he takes off Rodney's shoes and pants, working the covers free and pulling them up over Rodney's shoulders. "You're a piece of work, McKay."

Rodney snuffles, rolling towards him. "Mm. John?"

"Go back to sleep, Rodney. I'm here."


End file.
